


If You Let Me

by Kangofu_CB



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Doctor/Patient, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, I mean I'm not saying there won't be any angst, M/M, Nurses & Nursing, Smut, but basically this is all WAFF, this is literally my feel good thing guys ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-13 05:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: If Trowa could give the new residents one rule for surviving the ICU, it would be ‘Don’t Touch Anything. (Especially The Patients.)’.In reality, he’d actually give them a lot of rules, possibly with diagrams for clarity.But his main rule essentially covered the bases.When you worked in one of the largest ICUs, in the biggest medical center in the country, at a hospital known for taking on unstable patients for the most complex and risky surgeries that were performed no-where else, new residents were a menace.Until he meets Dr. Maxwell, the newest anesthesia resident.





	1. Just Another Day in [the ICU]

**Author's Note:**

> Medical information is as accurate as possible, given that it's based on my personal experiences and knowledge.
> 
> The ICU experience I describe is a pretty specific one. I work in this ICU, and this is how we run it. Most hospitals have their own individual set ups, and the one I'm in is fairly unusual. 
> 
> Residency and doctor-training specifics are a bit more fuzzy because I'm not a doctor and I haven't done residency, but I know a lot of residents, and I did sort of vaguely ask them some questions about it. Kind of. I'll be honest here, I didn't try very hard. So I don't delve too deeply into Duo's specifics - this is a Trowa POV fic. 
> 
> Feel free to leave me any questions in the comments, along with keyboard smashing, face planting, and regular old flailing. I appreciate all of it!

If Trowa could give the new residents one rule for surviving the ICU, it would be ‘Don’t Touch Anything. (Especially The Patients.)’.

 

In reality, he’d actually give them a lot of rules, possibly with diagrams for clarity.

 

But his main rule essentially covered the bases.  

 

That and, ‘I don’t work for you, idiot, and I **will** tell the ICU attending about the stupid thing you just did if you keep acting like an asshole.’

 

When you worked in one of the largest ICUs, in the biggest medical center in the country, at a hospital known for taking on unstable patients for the most complex and risky surgeries that were performed no-where else, new residents were a menace.

 

Especially the ones that thought they knew  _ anything _ .   Or disrespected the nurses.  Actually, those often went hand-in-hand.

 

It was the beginning of the month, which meant there were new, unknown ‘doctors’ on the unit, fiddling with the devices and not using enough hand gel.  Trowa sighed when he arrived at his patient’s bedside to see an unfamiliar white coat, long braid trailing down the back.

 

At least she wasn’t  _ touching _ anything.  He examined the IV pumps, the dialysis machine, the ventilator.  Nope, everything appeared as he’d left it when he’d gone to hurriedly shovel his lunch down his throat.  He looked over, making eye contact with Hilde, another nurse in his pod.  She shook her head, minutely, rolling her eyes with a grin.

 

Ok, good, nothing had been fiddled with.

 

He bustled over to his patient’s bedside, snapping on gloves, shifting pillows, preparing to turn him to his other side, since he was sedated and couldn’t turn himself.  Trowa ignored the resident.  If she wanted something, she’d ask.

 

They always did.

 

“You need a hand?”

 

Trowa’s head jerked up at the surprisingly deep voice, meeting cheerful violet eyes set in a decidedly  _ masculine _ face.  

 

Oops.  Apparently he’d gotten that one wrong.

 

“What?”

 

“You want some help?  Turning him?”  A disarming grin followed the words.

 

Trowa raised his eyebrows.  This was practically unheard of.  “Uh, sure.”  He glanced down at the badge attached to the coat.  

 

**Duo Maxwell, MD**

**Anesthesia Services**

 

Not that Trowa was going to remember the man’s name.  He never remembered their names.  At any given time there were 6-8 new residents for the month, who worked an incomprehensible rotation, and were only assigned to certain patients on the unit.  Trowa could barely keep up with them, and he had long ago stopped trying.  They were just ‘the resident,’ unless they did something really stupid, then they were ‘that fucking moron’.  Or worse.

  
If the nurses knew your name, you were exceptional.

 

Usually exceptionally  _ bad _ **_,_ ** but there was an occasional outlier.

 

Maxwell shrugged out of his coat and put gloves on, waiting expectantly on instructions.

 

Trowa was impressed.  Willing to man-handle a patient  _ and _ waiting to be told the best way to do so?  

 

Might be a keeper.

 

And, yeah, Trowa realized that  _ everyone _ had to learn.  Everyone started somewhere.  But these were his patients and he had a duty to keep them safe, even from bumbling young doctors with more enthusiasm than knowledge.  He didn’t hate new residents, he just didn’t trust them.

 

After getting the patient re-settled, lines straightened out and a fresh blanket tucked around him, Trowa turned back to the doctor, smiling.  “Thanks.”

 

Both of them reached for the hand sanitizer, scrubbing the alcohol until it dried.

 

“Yeah, no problem.  You’re Trowa, right?”  

 

Trowa glanced down at his own badge, meaningfully.  “Yeah.”

 

“Phil mentioned you.  When I told him I was doing my rotation here this month. I’m Duo, looking forward to working with you.”  His smiled crinkled the corners of his eyes.

 

“Phil?” Trowa questioned blankly, racking his brain.

 

“Yeah, sorry, Dr. Chen.”

 

Trowa just stared at him for a moment.  “And Dr. Chen was… a resident here… sometime in the past?”

 

The other man laughed.  “Ah, yeah. In September.  He said you guys had, quote, ‘bad juju’.”

 

It clicked.   _ That _ Phil. He’d been with… vascular surgery?  Trowa wasn’t sure.  But he’d been like a black cloud on the unit, despite being a decent doctor.  “You could say that.  Every time he had my patient, they coded.  He’s got the bad juju, it’s all him.  He brings it with him everywhere he goes.  I started keeping the crash cart next to his patients, to warn off the evil spirits.”

 

Maxwell laughed.  “So. Any advice for new residents?”

 

Trowa snorted.  “Loads.  How long have you got?”

 

The other man checked his watch.  “Uh, maybe 15 minutes before rounds?”

 

Turning to Hilde, who’d been watching their exchange with amusement, he asked, “Who’s on this afternoon?”

 

“Franks,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

 

He swung back around to the braided doctor.  “One.  Don’t touch anything.  Not the pumps, not the devices, and not the patients, until you check with us.  Two.  Don’t ask us anything you can find out from  _ looking at the chart _ .  In fact, don’t even come to the bedside unless you’ve looked at it.  We will  _ lie to you _ if it seems like you’re trying to use us to do your homework.  You will look  _ very stupid _ as a result. Three, Dr. Franks likes it short, sweet, and pertinent so that he can wax philosophical about his time as a cardiovascular surgeon in the Glory Days of the Navy.  Smile and nod, and know the answers to his questions.  If you don’t know, say you don’t know, because, in addition to being a narcissist with a God complex, he actually is as smart as he thinks he is and he will know.”

 

There.  That seemed like a fair trade for a resident who’d gone to the trouble to introduce himself and actually help with patient care.  He turned back to the patient, eyeing the pump setup critically.

 

The young doctor had nodded thoughtfully during his spiel, taking it in stride.  “So, I  _ shouldn’t _ come ask you how Mr. Smith here came to be in our ICU, then?”  His voice was all dry, sarcastic humor.

 

Trowa snorted.  “And I had such high hopes for you.”  

 

There was a beat of silence.  “What if I’m just looking for excuses to make conversation with you?”

 

Trowa paused in his task, looking up from the tubing he was untangling at the head of the bed, eyebrows crawling up his hairline.

 

The guy was ballsy, Trowa’d give him that.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Hilde eyeing both of them speculatively, cocking her head to the side as she paid special attention to the doctor’s backside.  She gave Trowa an enthusiastic two thumbs up.  

 

He barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes.

 

Shrugging his shoulder, Trowa answered, “I’m always up for intelligent conversation.”  He paused, carefully shifting monitoring cables out from underneath the patient’s shoulders.  Turning his head, green eyes clashed with violet.  “But I don’t date people I work with.”

 

Especially doctors, he didn’t add.  A lesson he’d learned the hard way a few years ago.

 

The braided man didn’t look the slightest bit deterred.  “Well, we’ll only be coworkers for a month,” he murmured, eyes dancing in amusement.  “Thank for the heads up about the unit and Dr. Franks.  See ya around!”  He winked, striding out of the six bed pod, heading for the front of the unit where rounds were about to begin.

 

Hilde was laughing hard enough to burst something.  “Shut up,” Trowa growled, “you’re going to wake the unconscious patients.”

 

“Oh man,” she snickered, “that was good.  He gets a cookie.  Maybe a coffee.  I’ve never seen anybody take your Ice Prince routine in stride and still manage to get the last word before.  It’s gotta be some kind of record.”

 

“I hate you,” he muttered, moving to check on his other patient.

 

“No you don’t, you love me and you know it.  You’re just mad because I witnessed your humiliation.”

 

He didn’t bother responding.

 

When the doctors made it to their pod ten minutes later, Duo was the epitome of professionalism, presenting the patients he’d been assigned with a brief but thorough report.  Trowa listened with half an ear for anything pertinent to the rest of his shift, but otherwise stayed out of the way.  Duo never even acknowledged his presence.

 

On their way out of the pod, though, he winked at Trowa as Dr. Franks began a monologue about the way they did things twenty years ago.

 

*

 

The next time Trowa ran into Duo -  _ Dr. Maxwell _ , as he’d been doing his unsuccessful best to think of him, two weeks into his month-long residency - it was over the chest of a crashing patient, the braided doctor elbowing him out of the way as fatigue set in and his compressions got too slow, picking up where Trowa left off, counting out beats under his breath.  Two minutes of chest compressions was a workout you couldn’t simulate at the gym.

 

Backing up, Trowa shook his arms out, breathing heavily, shaking feeling back into his fingers.

 

“I need five hundred of albumin!”

 

“Got it,” he called back, spinning out of the pod headed for the pyxis.  Logging on impatiently, he went through the obscene amount of screens required to emergently override the fluids, spiking tubing into the glass vial as he went, handing it off to Relena, who was standing at the head of the bed administering medications.

 

Duo was getting tired, he could see, his compressions less forceful, not as fast.  There were three people in line behind him to take over, waiting for Hilde to call for the next change, since she was doing the code sheet and keeping up with timing.  Trowa positioned himself at the end of the line, knowing the code could run for at least another half an hour, depending on the situation.

 

“On the count of three, switch!  One… Two… Three!”  

 

Duo stepped back as Chris, another nurse on the unit, stepped up, the switch barely interrupting the rhythm of the code, so smoothly did it happen.  The young doctor stripped his gloves off, rubbing paper towels over his hands to get rid of the sweat and smearing them with alcohol gel before grabbing another pair in preparation.  Six minutes would go by fast before it was his turn again.

 

When the attending finally called the code, 45 minutes later, every nurse on the unit had had at least one turn on compressions, along with Duo and the second resident, all of them worn down and sweaty, depressed by the family’s devastation.  Trowa helped Relena get the patient cleaned up and presentable for the family, ignoring the burn of the muscles in his shoulders, both of them quiet and detached.

 

After the shift ended, when Trowa suggested drinks, no one said no.

 

As an afterthought, he invited Duo, and the other resident, justifying his decision with the fact that he’d spent just as long as the rest of the staff at the patient’s bedside, and he’d tried his best to comfort the family when they’d arrived.

 

The braided doctor had eyed him speculatively, before agreeing, taking down the name of the restaurant and Trowa’s number in case he got lost.

 

Looking back on it, Trowa had to give him props for a rather clever way of getting his number.

 

By the time he finished catching up his charting and arrived at the restaurant it seemed like half the unit was already there, mainlining margaritas and passing plates of nachos around.  The wait staff was familiar enough with them - Hilde and Dorothy at least were regulars, and had something of a reputation.  The largest margaritas - on the rocks, no salt - appeared in front of the two of them like magic, and the waiter asked them if they wanted fajitas or enchiladas as he delivered them.

 

Trowa slid into the empty seat next to Hilde and was ordering his own drink of choice when he looked up and saw Duo navigating his way over, the other doctor trailing behind.  The group wasn't hard to miss, besides being loud and rowdy, all ten or so were in royal blue scrubs, and the two of them made a beeline for the table.  Trowa was still racking his brain for the other doctor’s name when Duo dropped into the chair beside him in exhaustion.

 

Hilde leaned over to murmur in his ear.  “The other guy’s name is Keith.  And aren’t you glad I saved you a seat?”

 

He glared at her from the corner of his eye and she snorted.

 

“Shots!” Dorothy called, and the waiter appeared near instantaneously.  

 

Trowa groaned.

 

Duo chuckled.  “What’s wrong with that?”

 

“Do you  _ know _ Dorothy?  At all?”

 

Dorothy was one of the regular charge nurses, and as such, she took absolutely no shit from anyone.  She was, frankly, terrifying to most people - doctors and staff alike.  The night shift called her ‘Commando Barbie’.

 

The other man shrugged in bemusement, picking up a menu.  “She gets excellent service, anyway.”

 

As if in testament to his words, another waiter appeared with a tray of tequila shots and limes.

 

Trowa laid his head on the table in defeat.  Hilde patted his back in non-sympathy. He felt the barest brush of Duo’s arm against his as he struggled to contain his laughter.

 

“Just wait,” Trowa deadpanned, not lifting his head, “you’ll see.”

 

Two and a half hours later his words proved prophetic.  He’d lost count of drinks that had been ordered, and the world had gone pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, everyone recounting their favorite work stories because you never got a group of nurses (and doctors, in this case) together without battle stories.  Hilde had already elbowed him four times recounting the patient who’d tried to kick her because he thought he was a POW, forcing Trowa to scoot his chair closer and closer to Duo’s to avoid bruising.

 

“Is it always like this?” Duo murmured next to him, reaching for a glass of water.

 

Obviously, he was smart, which is why he’d gone to medical school.  Trowa should probably have switched to water a long time ago.

 

“You mean loud, obnoxious, and gross?  Yes.  Always.”  The table nearest to them had left in a hurry after Relena told the story of the time she’d given an enema with results so explosive the patient’s family members had needed to change.

 

“So,” Hilde called loudly, leaning around Trowa, “how’s resident life?”

 

“Uh, it’s meeting my expectations?”  Duo looked cautious as he answered.

 

Hilde rolled her eyes.  She looked at Keith questioningly, raising her eyebrows, but he just shrugged.

 

“Today wasn’t the best,” the other man finally answered, reaching for his own drink.

 

Everyone at the table paused, like a collective wince.  

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not usually that bad,” Chris finally offered, downing the rest of his margarita.

 

Trowa did wince, then.  No, it usually wasn’t as dramatic as all that, with the family screaming and pounding on the patient’s chest and demanding they transfer the, well, frankly their deceased family member to another hospital.

 

They’d actually had to call security in the end.

 

He reached for his own drink, surprised to find it empty.

 

Relena stood up, collecting her phone and keys.  “I have to work tomorrow, and I’ve already been out way longer than I meant to be.  I’ll see you guys later.”

 

She was met with half-hearted jeers, and a few knowing smirks.  

 

“You just want to get home to  _ Doctor Yuy _ ,” Stephanie teased, making Relena blush.

 

Relena was married to one of the premier cardiologists in the city, one who couldn’t seem to understand why she didn’t want to stay home and just be Mrs. Yuy instead of continuing her career, but he was supportive, at least as far as Trowa had ever seen.

 

The blonde nurse shrugged, face still pink.  “It’s better than going home alone,” she laughed, reaching to hug the people she could reach and waving cheerfully on her way out of the restaurant.

 

Her leaving seemed to galvanize the others, and cash was tossed on the table and goodbyes were said until only Trowa, Duo, Hilde, and Dorothy were left, Dorothy settling her tab at the bar.

 

Hilde bumped his shoulder companionably.  “You wanna come back to my place?”

 

On his other side, Duo froze.

 

“Nah, I’m good.  I’ll Uber home.”  Trowa had left his car in the hospital parking garage anyway.

 

She shrugged. “That’ll cost you a fortune.  Text me if you change your mind.”  She gave him a squeeze around the shoulders and wandered off, collecting Dorothy on her way out, who shot them her own wave.

 

Trowa reached out and took what was left of her monster margarita for himself.  No reason to let good liquor go to waste.  

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Duo looking at him strangely.  He raised his eyebrow inquisitively, but the other man shook his head.

 

“Do you live far?”

 

He snorted.  “I’m the loser that lives in the ‘burbs,” Trowa responded, shrugging.  “The rent is cheaper and I have a dog, so she can have a yard.”

 

“Is that why you didn’t go with Hilde?”

 

Trowa paused, a flash of understanding washing over him.  “No,” he said, carefully, “I didn’t go with Hilde because I don’t want to listen to her have sex with Dorothy all night.”

 

Duo choked on his water.

 

Smirking slightly, Trowa continued.  “We’re what Chris likes to refer to as the Day Gays.  Me, Hilde, Dorothy.  One or two more.  Not Relena, obviously.”

 

The other man seemed to recover slightly.  “But the dog in the house isn’t a problem?”  His customary grin was back, eyes sparkling.

 

“Nah,” Trowa drawled, “she’s got a doggie door.”

 

He pulled his phone out, opening the app for Uber.  

 

Just in time for a surge.

 

He sighed.

 

“What’s up?” Duo asked, curiously.

 

Trowa held the phone up wordlessly.

 

“Fuckin’ A, Tro, that is a fortune.”

 

It normally cost him $30-$40 to Uber home on the rare occasions he needed to, but with the surge, the current going rate was more than double that.  He’d forgotten it was Friday night, because weekends don’t mean much when you’re in medicine.  Plus they were downtown, and the prices probably weren’t going to get lower anytime soon.

 

He sighed in resignation.  He was in no shape to drive, and he knew it.

 

“You can crash on my couch, if you want.” Duo made the offer hesitantly, but Trowa was well past the point in the night where he was making any kind of reasonable decisions. 

 

Saving the hundred bucks was more of a priority than figuring out his tangled web of feelings. He was pleasantly buzzed, nearing blitzed, riding the high of adrenaline from the code coupled with the low of how unsuccessful and undeniably horrible it was. 

 

Crashing on the couch of a doctor he was determined not to be attracted to was the least of his worries. 

 

*

 

Trowa woke up to a pounding head and a mouth that tasted like roadkill, on a futon that was surprisingly comfortable but miles too short for his lanky frame.

 

The night came back to him in blurry patches.

 

The restaurant.  The tequila shots - which explained how absolutely like garbage he felt - and then a sleepy ride in Duo’s beat up coupe to a shoebox sized apartment, where he’d nearly collapsed on the futon-slash-couch Duo had offered.

 

He winced at his own idiocy, but he was simultaneously relieved and disappointed that nothing happened that he remembered or, well, noticed evidence of, despite the clearly mutual attraction humming between himself and the young doctor.  Trowa rolled over gingerly, wincing at the light streaming through the windows.  

 

“I hate Dorothy,” he muttered, scrubbing at his face.

 

Someone chuckled to his right, and the accompanying vertigo when he whipped his head around to look was nearly enough to make him sick.

 

Duo was leaning over in a chair, tying his sneakers, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, laughing at him.  

 

Trowa flopped back down in defeat.

 

Of fucking  _ course _ the other man was up early, cheerful and ready to go  _ exercise _ .  While Trowa was suffering an immense hangover and probably looked twice as bad as he felt.  He knew what his hair looked like first thing in the morning, and he preferred for attractive men to remember the excellent evening they’d had prior before they saw it in the morning.

 

Maybe this was a good thing.  If anything was going to put Duo off, Trowa’s hungover ass was probably just the thing.  He should be  _ grateful _ .

 

“You can sleep, I’m just going for a run.  Your scrubs are in the drier anyway.”

 

And just like that, Trowa was overcome with humiliating memory, him, fumbling out of his scrubs, insistent that he couldn’t wear them to bed because they were dirty, Duo trying to convince him it didn’t matter because he could just wash the sheets and…

 

Yeah. 

 

He was under the thin blanket in nothing but his boxer briefs.

 

Trowa groaned again.

 

“You can help yourself to the shower, if you’d rather.  Towels are under the sink.”

 

“Do you have IV fluids and tylenol, because I might be human if you have those.”

 

Duo snorted.  “I’m not a nurse, so no, no IV fluids.  I haven’t started an IV a day in my life.  There’s tylenol in the bathroom though.”

 

Pulling the blanket over his head, Trowa contemplated dying.   

 

Hilde would have had IV fluids.  

 

He peeked his head back out of the covers, to find Duo stretching in preparation for his run.

 

Of course, Hilde didn’t have this kind of view.

 

“Zofran?  You’re a doctor, surely you have zofran.”

 

Duo grinned at him over his shoulder, pulling his right leg up behind him to stretch.  “You can check the cabinet in the bathroom, there’s a stash of stuff.  And powerade in the fridge.”  He strode to the door, pausing to strap his phone into an armband and tuck earbuds into his ears.  “I’ll be back in half an hour or so, and I can take you to your car, or breakfast, or whatever.”  He winked as he ducked out, shutting the door on the dumbfounded expression on Trowa’s face.

 

_ Breakfast _ ?

 

Forcing his body to cooperate, Trowa got up and headed for the bathroom.  

 

The promised tylenol, zofran, two bottles of powerade and a shower later, he almost felt human.

 

Unfortunately, he was a naked human.

 

Apparently Duo’s laundry wasn’t in the apartment, it was in some kind of community facility, and so Trowa was wearing nearly nothing when Duo returned, flushed and sweaty, hair plastered to his forehead, bobbing his head to the beat of the music.

 

Trowa had pulled the sheets off of the futon, bundling them up neatly, and folded it back up into a couch in the meantime, and he was currently sitting on it, wrapped in a fluffy towel, paging through the book he’d found on the end table when the other man looked up.

 

And froze.

 

Raising his eyebrow expectantly, he met Duo’s blank stare with a challenging one of his own.  “I couldn’t find the drier,” Trowa finally explained, when it became apparent that words had failed the other man.

 

“Shit,” Duo groaned, whipping around and racing out the door.

 

Only to return, five minutes later with a basket of freshly laundered clothes under his arm.  He dropped it on the floor near the door and dug through it briskly, handing Trowa his tshirt and scrubs from the day before, blushing furiously.  

 

“Thanks,” Trowa offered, tugging the well-worn t-shirt over his head, iconic prism and rainbow stretched across his chest.

 

“I’m, ah, gonna grab a quick shower,” Duo stammered as he fled the room.

 

Amused, Trowa watched him go, waited to hear the shower come on before he tugged his scrub pants up over his hips, grimacing at the lack of underwear.

 

Well, he’d done the walk of shame in worse.

 

Not that this was that.

 

Duo emerged a few minutes later, hair damp in its customary braid, in jeans and a t-shirt of his own, though his wasn’t from a band.

 

“Is that a Patriots shirt?” Trowa asked with more disgust than the situation really warranted, but anxious to move past the awkwardness that came with waking up nearly naked in someone else’s house, regardless of the circumstances.

 

“Yeah and?  Are you even old enough to be wearing that shirt?”

 

Trowa glanced down at himself with a chuckle.  Not quite old enough for the particular album, perhaps, but he’d been born before their final album was released.  “I bought it at Live 8,” he shrugged, unrepentant.

 

He only ever wore it under his scrubs, now anyway, because it was old and soft and just a bit too small.

 

Duo didn’t seem to mind, if the way he was looking at him was any indication.

 

Grinning at Trowa, Duo grabbed his keys from the counter and slid his feet into the boat shoes by the front door.  “So?  Where to?  Your car, which I presume is either at the restaurant or the hospital, or were you interested in breakfast?”

 

Trowa gave it serious consideration.  

 

On the one hand, he really  _ didn’t _ date people he worked with, because it had only ever ended in awkwardness and discomfort at work, and he  _ never  _ dated doctors, because he’d been down that road before and it had been a monumentally bad idea.

 

On the other hand, this wasn’t like  _ that _ , and even if Duo stayed on at the hospital Trowa worked for, he’d be in the OR, and more like Trowa’s peer than someone he’d be subjected to in a patient care situation.  

 

Certainly no one he’d be taking orders from.

 

And anyway, it was just breakfast.  It wasn’t like Duo had declared his undying love.

 

Besides, Trowa was hungry.

 

“Breakfast sounds good,” he said, reaching for his own shoes.


	2. So You Had a Bad Day...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a bad day at work, Duo and Trowa have a chance to unwind.

Breakfast had been good.  Had gone surprisingly well, considering the awkward way the morning had begun, the weird feeling of ‘morning after’ that didn’t actually apply, and the hangover Trowa couldn’t seem to shake.  

 

They chatted easily, like friends, or at least something more than acquaintances, and Duo hadn’t pressed the date-like feeling, letting Trowa pay for his meal without comment.

 

Trowa had learned that while Duo was passionate about being a doctor, he wasn’t all that enthusiastic about being on call or carrying a pager, which is why he’d gone into anesthesia.  He liked chatting with patients and reassuring families and relieving pain, but he didn’t like odd hours or weekends spent in the hospital or missing time with a hypothetical family to rush off to the hospital.

 

All the same reasons Trowa was a nurse, to be honest.

 

He liked leaving his work at work, and going home without expectations.

 

Trowa learned Duo’s mom had been a nurse, before she’d died in a car accident when he was a kid, and Trowa privately thought that explained  _ everything _ about the braided man.  It certainly explained his humble attitude and his general respect for the staff.

 

Duo shared freely, easily, mostly making up for the fact that Trowa was reticent about his own life and motivations, though Duo managed to weasel out a fair bit of information, including the fact that he had a sister, and he was estranged from his own parents.

 

They’d parted on good terms, Duo dropping him at the parking garage with a cheerful wave, Trowa going home to sleep for several more hours, once he'd dealt with his hyper-enthusiastic dog.

 

Later, he woke up to a dozen text messages from Hilde and one from Duo that was simply his name, so Trowa could store the number.

 

Trowa had written back with his own name and nothing else, getting an eye-rolling emoji in response.

 

He’d laughed, because it meant that Duo got it, got  _ him _ , or at least his sense of humor.

 

That’s when he’d known he was in over his head.

 

He was off for three days after that, and grateful for the time and the space.  He didn’t get any more texts from Duo, and, once he’d reassured her of his survival, he didn’t get any from Hilde either, which meant that Duo had been discreet.

 

He appreciated that, because it was more than he could say about his last relationship with a doctor.

 

Not that he was in a relationship with Duo.

 

Today was not the day to contemplate any of that though.  Today was the day from hell.

 

It had started out well enough, his two patient assignment busy but manageable.

 

Then someone had ordered a completely unnecessary CT scan that Trowa had tried to weasel his way out of without success.  Then the other nurse had scheduled a different test for her patient in the middle of the day - prime lunch time for everyone, and fucking Trowa’s entire schedule.

 

Then they had decided that his  _ other _ patient needed a tracheostomy ‘in the early afternoon’.

 

Which meant if Trowa didn’t go to lunch  _ right now _ he wouldn’t  _ get _ a fucking lunch.

 

He raided his locker for tomato soup and peanut butter crackers while one of the other nurses kept an eye on his patients, only to rush back just in time to meet the transportation tech to take his patient to CT scan.

 

And it might, _ might _ have gone ok, because the scan was quick and the doctors weren’t ready to start the tracheostomy when he got back, if it hadn’t been for the fact that his patient’s central line wasn’t working when he returned to the floor.

 

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” he muttered, troubleshooting the line every possible way he could think of before giving up in frustrated defeat.  It had probably gotten caught at some point during the scan and pulled just slightly out of place, though Trowa couldn’t see that it looked any different than it had at the beginning of his shift.

 

Dr. Salem was going to be flaming  _ pissed _ when Trowa told him.

 

It went better than expected, leaving Trowa to wonder if someone had spiked the notoriously sarcastic and cranky doctor’s coffee in the morning.  He waved Trowa off without even a smart ass remark. 

 

“Go get the resident to look at it.”

 

_ Fuck. _

 

“Which one?” Trowa asked, reluctantly.

 

“Both of them, who cares?” Dr. Salem had responded, barely looking up from his computer screen.

 

Trowa sighed, trudging off to the nook on the other side of the unit where the residents typically spent their time when they weren’t needed for something with the patients.

 

Both Duo and Keith were there when Trowa arrived.

 

There was nothing for it but to own up to the problem.

 

He leaned against the door jamb, casually.  “So who wants to fix a problem for me?”

 

Duo grinned up at him, but Keith looked wary.  “What kind of problem?”

 

“I think my central line might have gotten pulled when I took my patient to CT scan - it’s not working.  Dr. Salem told me to ask you guys to look at it, see if you can get it working again.”

 

Trowa had almost no hope on that count, and fully expected that he was going to have to replace the line, which Dr. Salem was  _ definitely _ not going to be happy about, and which he was sure to pay for in some obscure way.

 

In fact, Trowa suspected that having the residents look at the line was part of the punishment.

 

He was even more certain of it when they got to the patient’s bedside and Keith insisted the line was tunneled - when it clearly w _ as not _ \- and then fumbled around with it for a full fifteen minutes before declaring Dr. Salem would have to come look at it.

 

Trowa sighed.

 

Duo grinned at him from the doorway.  He’d taken one look at it, tried the same tricks Trowa had, and immediately ceded ground to Keith, citing his inexperience with central lines.

 

Dr. Salem was just as irritated as Trowa expected when Keith went and got him, but Trowa was fortunate in that he seemed to be mostly disgruntled at Keith, who was still insisting the line was tunneled. 

 

Forty-five fumbling minutes later, Dr. Salem finally took over entirely, re-wiring the line with practiced ease and suturing it properly so that it couldn’t be accidentally dislodged, Keith and Duo hovering over his shoulders, observing, while Trowa provided sterile equipment.

 

They wrapped up just in time for the ENT team to show up ready to trach his other patient.

 

Needless to say, the day was very, very long.

 

Trowa had ducked out the back of the unit after he gave report, not even waiting on Hilde, anxious to get home to a hot shower and cold beer.

 

Unfortunately, today - his second of a three day stretch - wasn’t going any better.

 

He came in to find his assignment had been changed overnight, which was fine, really, because he wasn’t all that anxious to take his previous patients back after yesterday, but his shift was barely started and already it was problematic.

 

Looking at his patient’s vital signs and labored breathing, something was very, very wrong.

 

He called the nurse practitioner.

 

One x-ray later, Trowa was in the supply room gathering everything he needed for an emergent chest tube placement, when the door slammed open and immediately closed behind him.

 

“Hello, Trowa.”

 

Trowa shut his eyes, inhaling deeply at the familiar, cultured voice, his name drawled in what was very nearly a sneer.

 

He really didn’t have time for this bullshit.

 

Straightening up and turning around, Trowa wasn’t surprised to find himself face to face with  _ Doctor _ Zechs Merquise, cardiology fellow and Trowa’s most regretted mistake to date.

 

“Zechs,” he sighed, “I really-”

 

“Dr. Merquise,” the tall blonde interrupted him, corrected him, as though Trowa actually gave a shit.

 

He rolled his eyes.  “Dr. Merquise,” he began, the words as sarcastic as humanly possible, “I’m on my way to a procedure so…” Trowa trailed off, expecting the other man to move aside.

 

There was only one door to central supply, and Zechs had planted himself directly in Trowa’s path, making it difficult and awkward to go around him, and he showed no signs of getting out of the way.

 

They were still staring at each other belligerently when the supply room door opened again, this time with less force.

 

“Hey Tro, can you grab a pneumodart too?”  

 

Of  _ course _ Duo chose exactly this moment to appear.

 

Because Trowa was cursed.  He needed the chaplain to come and bless him because he was clearly under the influence of evil.

 

“Sure,” Trowa answered easily, pulling the requested item from a nearby bin.

 

Zechs looked between the two of them, taking in Duo’s white coat, his eyes, the use of a nickname, and he did sneer this time.

 

“ _ Tro _ ?” He questioned, snidely, one eyebrow raised, tone conveying all his thoughts and opinions.

 

One thing about Zechs Merquise - he had absolutely no kind of poker face.

 

Though he was quite good at lying, when the circumstances suited him, as Trowa had been in a position to know.

 

Duo looked increasingly confused, probably not least because Zechs was blocking Trowa’s exit and they had a patient in distress to attend to.

 

“I have a patient with a liter of blood in his chest, so I need to go.  Or you can explain to Dr. Franks why you delayed an emergent procedure by holding me up in the supply room.”

 

Zechs didn’t  _ want _ to do that, Trowa could see, in fact looked a bit green at the prospect, but he  _ also _ wanted to get the last word, and that was another thing about him that never changed.

 

Duo made some kind of impatient noise from the doorway, and Zechs begrudgingly moved aside, leaving just enough space that Trowa was able to brush past him, though not comfortably, and Duo turned, clearly expecting Trowa to follow, his braid flicking out behind him.

 

As soon as Trowa saw it he knew, he  _ knew _ , and sure enough-

 

“Oh.”  The word was smug, cocky in a way that Trowa had once found attractive but now just found tiresome.  “I see.”

 

Zechs didn’t see  _ anything _ , or at least he didn’t see things as they were, but the comparison he was making, the assumption was breathtakingly offensive and disgusting and if Trowa had even five fucking minutes-

 

But he didn’t, he had a patient on the verge of coding and he had places to be and things that were way more important than setting Zechs Merquise straight.

 

He didn’t have t _ o like  _ it, though, and by the time he got back to the bedside, he was positively fuming.

 

Duo shot him a curious glance, and Hilde watched him with eyebrows raised as he began setting up for chest tube insertion with angry, jerking motions.

 

Merquise chose that moment to breeze by the pod, smirking to himself, and her brow furrowed in irritation before she glanced over at Trowa in understanding and sympathy, the look making him even more annoyed.

 

Trowa shoved it all down, the irritation and annoyance and frustration, burying it under the clinical aspect of his mind, diving into the headspace required for emergent situations, monitoring vital signs and administering medications with methodical professionalism, losing himself in the rhythm of patient care and his own expertise.

 

It wasn’t until hours later that he allowed himself to remember the encounter, and all of the choking emotions came rushing back in a wave that left him agitated and short-tempered for the rest of the shift, Hilde bearing the brunt of his temper.

 

Later, he’d feel bad about that.

 

“You working tomorrow?” she asked, finally, about an hour before the end of the day, while Trowa was getting his space organized and cleaned up for the oncoming shift.

 

He sighed.  “Yeah,” he responded, short and to the point, already dreading the next day.

 

“You wanna swap a day?  I can carpool with Dorothy, that’s easier for us, she’s charging tomorrow.”

 

That sounded… amazing actually.  “What day do you want me to pick up for you?”

 

Two hours later, Trowa was sitting on a barstool in his favorite bar, sipping a gin and tonic, marveling at his newfound freedom, when Duo dropped into the stool next to him, looking as tired as Trowa felt.

 

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Duo joked, quirking a half smile, though it didn’t erase the exhaustion on his face.

 

Trowa didn’t answer, just raised his glass in display, despite the fact that it was half-empty already.  He’d have a new one soon, the bartender knew him here.

 

It was a hole in the wall tapas restaurant, one Trowa liked because it was tiny and anonymous, didn’t have any televisions, so was nearly empty on game nights, and not popular with the multitude of medical professionals who worked in the surrounding hospitals.  It wasn’t well-known and it wasn’t trendy, and it was almost always nearly empty.  Sometimes Trowa wasn’t sure how it even stayed in business.

 

So he was more than a little surprised to see Duo there.  He narrowed his eyes.

 

“Hilde sent you,” he accused, though the words lacked any real heat.

 

Duo laughed.  “Noooooo.”  He paused to answer the bartender’s request for his order, the Jack and coke produced almost instantly, and Duo sipped it with a sigh of contentment.  “Hilde  _ might _ have suggested this place when she also suggested I  _ might _ be in the mood for a drink.”

 

Trowa rolled his eyes.  Hilde was notorious for meddling, and she seemed to take perverse pleasure in meddling in his life in particular.

 

“Well the drinks are good,” Trowa said, and while he wasn’t upset that Duo was here, per se, he’d been… well he’d planned on an evening alone, a chance to unwind and relax and put Zechs Merquise as far as possible from his mind, and none of those things were going to happen with this doctor sitting to his right all night.

 

Duo kept him on edge, made him think of all the things he had done and hadn’t done, and made him wish for things he knew better than to get involved with.  Duo was young - younger than Trowa anyway, but also young in the same way all fresh-faced new doctors were, naive and charming and not yet worn down by the dredges of human suffering that sometimes permeated the ICU environment.

 

It was damnably attractive, and Trowa, jaded soul that he was, found himself drawn to it like moth to the flame.

 

Trowa, who’d been a nurse for ten years already, was full of black humor and the jaded cynicism that came with caring for the dead and dying, of years of fruitless interventions and prolonging quantity rather than quality of life and some days he was just  _ tired. _  Not that he didn’t love his job, because he did, and he’d seen some truly miraculous things, but it was wearing in a lot of deep, meaningful ways.

 

As a third year resident, Duo was new to the hospital, really, certainly new to the ICU environment, and therefore hadn’t lost the shiny optimism that came with the sure belief in your calling, of the absolute certainty that you were saving lives.  Trowa remembered those days, vaguely, and he had absolutely no desire to tarnish the experience for the other man.

 

He took another swallow of his drink, the juniper-flavored liquor mellowed and balanced by the tonic, and sighed as the two of them sat in silence together.

 

It wasn’t that bad, really, so long as Duo didn’t expect anything from him.

 

“So who was the Thor wannabe today?”

 

Trowa almost snorted gin up his nose.

 

That was a… surprisingly accurate description, and it made him grin, momentarily overriding the irritation and frustration and, frankly, humiliation he still felt with regards to the arrogant blonde doctor.

 

He sighed.  “Zechs Merquise, future cardiologist and professional asshole.”

 

It was Duo’s turn to snort into his drink.  “I take it you two have a history?”  The question was asked hesitantly, and Trowa appreciated that the other man wasn’t trying to pry, just curious.

 

“You could say that,” Trowa grumbled, motioning at the bartender for a second drink.

 

“Could I also venture to say that he’s why you don’t date people you work with?”  Duo was cataloguing the various liquor offerings behind the bar with casual studiousness, neatly avoiding the surprised look Trowa aimed at him.

 

Zechs was entirely the reason Trowa didn’t date doctors, and one of a few reasons he didn’t date coworkers.  He grunted a vaguely positive noise, reaching for the fresh glass that was being placed in front of him.

 

Duo hummed thoughtfully, still sipping his drink.

 

Trowa watched him, out of the corner of his eye, the alcohol finally relaxing him enough that he was able to appreciate the picture the other man made, even if he couldn’t entirely appreciate his company or his questions.

 

The braided man made even the hospital issued scrubs he’d been wearing for the last thirteen hours look good, and that was saying something.  He was sitting on the barstool, casually resting his elbows on the bartop, legs hooked behind the stool’s wooden supports as he methodically consumed the dark-colored drink in his hand.  His long braid was dangling behind him, just brushing the top of the stool, lying enticingly against his spine, and Trowa had to admit, if only to himself, that Zechs was probably right in implying that he had something of a hair fetish.

 

He sighed again.

 

Duo looked at him questioningly, but Trowa shook his head mutely.

 

He was too raw, right now, and certainly not a good conversationalist, and on the verge of revealing far too much about his personal issues, to even consider talking about Zechs and the disastrous fiasco that was their relationship.

 

Or whatever it had been.

 

“So,” Duo began, draining the remainder of the drink in his hand, “I was thinking.”

 

Trowa quirked an eyebrow.  “Is this a new pastime for you?”

 

The other man laughed good naturedly.  “Only on alternating Tuesdays.”

 

There was a beat of silence, and Trowa waited, but Duo didn’t finish.  “You were thinking?” he prompted.

 

Duo smirked, just a bit, and Trowa belatedly realized he’d been set up.  

 

“My last day on the unit is next Wednesday.”

 

Trowa hadn’t realized the month had gone by so fast.  

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

Duo nodded.  “I was thinking I should celebrate.  It was a successful rotation.  No one who wasn’t supposed to die, died, and I didn’t make  _ too _ much of an idiot out of myself.”

 

Chuckling, Trowa shrugged his shoulder.  “Not too much, no.”

 

“So what’s your schedule next weekend?”

 

Trowa pulled his phone out to check.  “I’m working Wednesday and Thursday, off Friday and Saturday, and working Sunday.”

 

Pulling out his wallet, Duo tucked a couple of bills underneath his now-empty glass and stood, clearly planning to leave.  “Friday night ok for you?” he asked, tucking the brown leather away again.

 

“Sure, that’s fine.”

 

“Great!  It’s a date!”

 

Duo clapped him on the shoulder as he turned to go, his fingertips lingering along Trowa’s spine as he walked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing in fine tradition, Zechs Merquise is never my favorite...
> 
> Special Thanks to tumbledrylemur who pointed out that I needed some clarification in this chapter:
> 
> A central line (CVC - central venous catheter) is a type of IV! Similar to the small ones that go in, say, your arm if you go to the hospital or give blood. But it’s a bigger one that is placed in one of the larger veins in the body (like the femoral vein or the subclavian vein). They’re used for very sick patients who need medications that would be caustic in a smaller, more fragile vein, or who are on a lot of medications and need more than one IV access (a CVC might have as many as four ports that can be used for injections or blood draws).


	3. What's in a date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trowa and Duo go on a date.
> 
> Only, Trowa gets a bit of an unexpected surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most self-indulgent garbage I've ever written. Enjoy my brain. 
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone who points out when my medical lingo is a bit too much and needs more explanation - I really appreciate that and please don't hesitate to keep letting me know! I don't want anyone to be confused!
> 
> That said, not much medical lingo here. Just some good old fashioned banter and pining.

When Duo had suggested a celebration, Trowa had naively, idiotically assumed he meant a _group_ celebration.  Like the trip to the Mexican restaurant, but slightly less rowdy.

 

Maybe.  

 

Possibly less rowdy.

 

When Duo had blithely said “It’s a date!” on his way out of the bar, Trowa had taken it as a turn of phrase.  An _expression_ , for God’s sake.

 

Not an invitation.

 

**_Maggiano’s? 7?_ **

 

Trowa had gotten the text, had _assumed_ again that it was a general invitation, that whoever else on the unit Duo had built some kind of relationship with would be there as well.

 

When he’d asked Hilde if she was going, she’d shrugged nonchalantly and said she didn’t know.

 

In retrospect, that was suspicious. Hilde didn't really do nonchalant.

 

He was therefore caught totally off guard when he walked into the restaurant to find Duo waiting for him, wearing a deep blue collared shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow and tucked into well fitting jeans, blazer thrown over his arm, and no one else in sight.  

 

Trowa careened to a stop, staring.  

 

He’d dressed for the restaurant, at least, in grey khakis and a scarf and sweater, but he hadn’t dressed for a _date_.  He hadn’t shaved, hadn’t put his contacts in, hadn’t done any of the things he’d normally do in anticipation of an evening out with someone he found attractive.  At least he’d showered.

 

“Well, this is awkward,” he said, drolly, as he approached the other man.

 

Duo turned to smile broadly at him, a dimple Trowa hadn’t noticed before appearing in his cheek.

 

He was a fucking sucker for dimples.

 

“What is?”

 

“I’ve never accidentally gone on a date before.”

 

The smile widened, though Duo at least had the grace to blush, faintly.  He shrugged, not at all repentant.  “We don’t work together anymore.”

 

Trowa rolled his eyes.  “I didn’t even shave, Duo.”

 

The other man looked him over appraisingly, lingeringly, and Trowa shivered, despite the warmth of the building and his scarf.  “It’s a good look,” he decided, eventually, smirk playing along his lips.  “I like the glasses.”

 

Before he could respond, not that he had anything particularly witty to say, the hostess arrived, menus in hand, to lead them to their table.  

 

Maggiano’s was a chain Italian restaurant, slightly more high-end than most, but this particular location was different.  It was the original restaurant, had existed before the expansion, and it was therefore special. It had off menu items and live music and ambiance and Trowa should have _known_ when Duo suggested it that this was a date.

 

He'd taken at least one person here for dinner, himself, though it had been a while.

 

Trowa settled himself into the seat across from Duo, accepting a menu and a napkin from the waitress, waiting for her to finish pouring glasses of water and walk away before he spoke.

 

“Do you usually have to mislead people into dating you?”  The words were amused, rather than censuring.

 

Duo quirked an eyebrow at him over the menu, and Trowa could see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that meant he was smiling.  “Only when they’re stubborn and uncooperative.”  His eyes flicked back down to the page, and in the low light and flickering candles, their color was almost purple.

 

“Duo, I-”

 

The other man held up his hand, forestalling Trowa's words, and set his menu aside.

 

“Listen Tro, I get it. I know you don't date people you work with. Or maybe it's that you don't date medical people or just doctors or whatever. That's fine. It's a date, not a marriage proposal. Humor me. I'm done in CV, you'll probably never have to see my face again.” He picked his menu back up as Trowa froze in realization.

 

It had somehow slipped his mind that he really might _not_ see Duo again after this. His rotations would take him through whatever services wanted him and had space for him, which may or may not overlap with Trowa's unit, and then he'd take a job somewhere else, which, in all likelihood, would not be in Trowa's area.

 

Before Trowa could answer, Duo spoke up again, from behind his reclaimed menu.

 

“And if it's something to do with Platinum Barbie, I think I can confidently say that the two of us have almost nothing in common, except maybe a higher than usual budget for hair care products.”

 

Trowa snorted in amusement.

 

They didn't even have that in common, Trowa knew, recalling the copious tubes and bottles Zechs had kept under his sink, compared to the basic shampoo and conditioner in Duo's shower.

 

Dinner after that was a surprisingly easy affair.  They were already friends, and they shared a common work environment and taste in wine and, overall, Trowa was having an excellent evening.

 

“Tell me about your family.”

 

Trowa raised his eyebrow at Duo in surprise.

 

“C’mon, you know all about mine - I mean, I don’t have one, really, but you heard the whole sob story and the _least_ you can do is tell me something about yours.”

 

He sighed.  His family was… well every family was imperfect but his was more dysfunctional than some.  “I don’t speak to my parents.  There’s a lot to that, but the end result is, we don’t talk.  But I have a sister - Cathy - and she’s got two little girls and I spend holidays with them and stuff.”

 

Duo looked absolutely _delighted_ , and it didn’t take long for Trowa to warm to the subject.

 

“They live in Georgia - Cathy homeschools both girls - and they call me and tell me about their projects and their trips and all kinds of things.  Colette is nine and she wants to be a veterinarian, and Nicoline is six and she told me yesterday she’s going to be a fairy when she grows up.”

 

Eyes shining with something indefinable, Duo grinned across the table at Trowa, clearly enthralled.

 

It was an entirely different experience than Trowa was used to.

 

He was particularly close with his sister, and he doted on his nieces, and his previous boyfriends - Zechs in particular - hadn’t understood his devotion to them or his desire to maintain those ties, despite their distance.

 

“Ok but those are French names?  Is their dad French? Are _you_ French?”

 

Trowa snorted.  “No, Cathy’s just a hopeless romantic.  She thinks French is the most romantic language in the _world_ , apparently, and pored over baby books to find French names for both of them.”  He hesitated, then continued.  “Their dad isn’t really involved.”

 

“His loss,” Duo said, flippantly, reaching for his wine glass.  “They sound amazing.”

 

Shrugging self-consciously, Trowa bent to cut at the chicken on his plate.  “I think so.”

 

 _“Ou étais-tu toute ma vie?_ _”_

 

Trowa looked up in surprise, Duo smirking at him over the wine glass, amusement sparkling in his eyes.  

 

It was a very good look for him.

 

Before he had a chance to respond, they were interrupted by loud coughing and choking two tables over.

 

Both Duo and Trowa stopped what they were doing to turn and watch, a middle-aged man hacking forcefully, a half-eaten steak on his plate.  He was red-faced and his tablemate was pounding him on the back forcefully.

 

“Not it,” Trowa murmured, glancing over at Duo.

 

The other man chuckled into his glass.  “He’s coughing, that means he’s breathing.  I have had,” he looked at the glass consideringly, “one and a half glasses of wine and am therefore intoxicated and unfit for duty.  You, on the other hand, have only had one glass of wine and you’re covered by good samaritan laws.  You definitely have to perform the Hiemlich maneuver if he needs it.”

 

The man finally seemed to get his near-death experience under control, taking long deep breaths and reaching for his water glass.  

 

“It’s called _abdominal thrusts_ ,” Trowa responded, with as much dignity as he could muster, “Dr. Heimlich’s family sued over the name, I think.”

 

This time Duo laughed out loud, and Trowa admired the line of his neck as he threw his head back in amusement.  “Abdominal thrusts sounds like something we used to do in high school,” Duo joked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, and then laughing again when Trowa choked on his wine.  “What?  That wasn’t your high school experience?”

 

“Not exactly,” Trowa responded, dryly, clearing his throat of the burning sensation from the wine he’d nearly inhaled.  

 

His high school experience had been painful, to say the least.  He’d gone to a microscopic school in a small town, surrounded by opinionated bigots, and had been thoroughly in the closet until college.  When he’d come out to his family, their reactions had been only the most recent in a long string of awful parenting.  Of his parents, grandparents, and cousins, Cathy had been the only supportive one, and that was why she was the only one he was on speaking terms with.

 

“Since when do you speak French, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.

 

Duo shrugged as the waiter cleared their plates away and dropped off dessert menus.  “My mom spoke French, or at least I remember her singing in French when I was little, and so when language options were a thing in school I always chose French.  I minored in it in undergrad.”

 

That was… almost unbearably sweet.

 

Luckily, Trowa was saved from having to come up with something in response that wasn’t ridiculously sappy by the waiter reappearing for their dessert orders.  Duo quirked his eyebrow at him, because neither of them had even bothered to look at the menu.

 

Acting on sudden inspiration, Trowa looked up at the waiter.  “Do you have crème brûlée?”

 

Duo snorted.

 

Their dessert arrived in a ramekin large enough to share, perfectly caramelized on top, with sliced strawberries on the side.

 

The sound Duo made when he ate the first bite should have been illegal, it was so erotic.

 

“Good?” Trowa asked, voice thick.  His own spoon crunched through the layer of burnt sugar into the custard below, but he was much more interested in watching Duo eat the treat than eating it himself.

 

He brought the spoon to his lips, still watching the other man savor his portion.

 

“Very,” Duo answered, reaching for another scoop.

 

Trowa had never found the act of eating anything so attractive.

 

The walk out to the parking lot was charged with underlying tension, attraction and arousal humming between them, their arms and shoulders brushing as they walked.  They came to a halt next to Trowa’s maroon Sonata, awkwardly facing each other near the driver’s side door.

 

“So,” Duo began, hesitant and more shy that Trowa had ever seen him, “I had a good time.”

 

Trowa huffed a laugh.  “Best accidental date I’ve ever gone on.”

 

“ _First_ accidental date you’ve ever gone on,” Duo muttered, his cheeks flushed as he glanced off to the side.

 

Trowa took another step forward, bringing them closer in proximity, and reached out to grip Duo’s hip, tugging him closer.  He angled his face down, giving Duo plenty of warning as he moved in slowly, but the other man just watched him placidly, eyelids drifting closed.

 

As first kisses went, it was one of Trowa's better experiences.  Firm and slow and warm, their lips moving slowly against one another in tandem.

 

Then Duo opened his mouth slightly, their breath mingling, and nipped at Trowa’s bottom lip, and the kiss went from slow and sweet to heated and impatient in the blink of an eye.

 

When Trowa finally came up for air, he had backed Duo against the side of the car, the other man’s arms wrapped around his neck, and they were pressed together from chest to knees, panting.  There was absolutely no mistaking either of their interest in the other, judging by the firm length pressed against his thigh and the matching arousal in his khakis.

 

Trowa leaned down, running his lips along Duo’s neck, his hands on Duo’s hips.  He tongued at the other man’s pulse, his thumbs tracing patterns along the edge of his jeans.

 

“What are you doing for the rest of the night?” Duo asked, breathlessly.

 

Sighing regretfully, Trowa eased off of him, leaning back to look down into his flushed face, taking in swollen lips, heavy lidded eyes.

 

“As much as I’d _love_ to make plans,” he pressed forward, just a bit, to emphasize the feelings, “I have Nike kenneled, and I have to get back home to let her out.”

 

“Nike?”  Duo sounded confused, his brow furrowed, some of the lust easing from his expression.

 

“My dog,” Trowa answered, grimacing.  “I put her in the kennel because I had pest control come by, and I can’t leave her in there all night.”

 

“Doesn’t have to be _all_ night,” Duo wheedled, grinning mischievously.  “What are you doing for the next couple of hours?”

 

Trowa snorted.  “I prefer to take my time,” he murmured, and leaned down to explore Duo’s mouth again, thrusting his tongue in and out and aligning their bodies for best effect.  When he pulled away, Duo was breathless again.  “Savor the experience.”

 

Duo inhaled sharply, eyes widening.  “Sounds promising.”

 

“Next time,” Trowa assured him, sliding his hand into Duo’s back pocket and tugging him even closer, leaning to drag his teeth over the other man’s throat.

 

It wasn’t until he was driving home, pants uncomfortably snug, that Trowa realized that he’d basically committed himself to another date with Duo.

 

*

 

**_Do you like movies?_ **

 

Trowa tossed the phone in his hand, end over end, a few times before finally hitting send and tucking it into his pocket.  He’d been debating the message for nearly a week, ever since his dinner date with Duo and the subsequent days of impromptu text messages and the flush feeling of new attraction.

 

He got back to work, seeking a distraction from his own annoying anxiety.

 

Duo had clearly, without a doubt, had a good time on their date.  The one he’d _tricked_ Trowa into going on.  It was stupid to be this nervous over a second date.  Utterly idiotic.  It had been nearly two weeks, for fucks’ sake.

 

That didn’t stop Trowa from pulling his phone out every few minutes, imagining that he’d felt it buzzing in his pocket.

 

He wasn't helped by the fact that they’d assigned him to the very back part of the unit, where the relatively healthy patients were.  Which meant that there were no critical issues to deal with, no patients circling the drain, nothing to keep his mind off of the date, or the kisses, or Duo’s ‘I had a really great time’ text that Trowa had gotten the day after-

 

Trowa dropped his phone on the floor yanking it out of his pocket when it really, actually did vibrate.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning over to pick it up.

 

His podmate snickered.

 

And that was another thing.  Trowa was in the back with easy patients, and that meant that he was babysitting a new nurse all day, and normally that was fine, but this particular nurse rubbed him the wrong way in every possible manner.

 

She had the social skills of a preschooler, which he could have overlooked if she could be _trusted_ to look after her patients, but she couldn’t, and that meant Trowa had to keep his eye not only on all four patients, but also _her._  She did incredibly stupid things without asking anyone if she should, and that made her dangerous.

 

He sighed.

 

**_How are things with Tweedledumb?_ **

 

It wasn’t even Duo texting him back.  It was Dorothy.

 

**_She hasn’t killed anyone._ **

 

**_Yet…_ **

 

Because that response wasn’t ominous at all from the charge nurse.

 

The phone came alive in his hand as he was about to put it away again, and he rolled his eyes, already anticipating more of Dorothy’s biting wit.

 

Instead, the message was from Duo.

 

 **_Doesn’t everyon_ ** **e?**

 

Well. No.  

 

But obviously Duo was going to make him work for it.

 

**_You want to go see one?_ **

 

Trowa watched the little ellipses flash on the screen as Duo typed a response.  And typed.

 

And typed.

 

**_Sounds good._ **

 

Trowa almost laughed out loud.  All that waiting for two words.  He wondered how many different answers Duo typed and then erased before he settled on that one.

 

Obviously Trowa wasn’t the only nervous party here.

 

**_When are you free?_ **

 

Another long typing pause.

 

**_I dunno?  This rotation sucks.  I’m nights sometimes and days others and I think I’m on call this weekend?_ **

 

Duo had been shipped over to another hospital for his newest rotation, and his work hours had jumped from the standard fifty or so to something closer to seventy, and he was talking call two or three times a week.

 

Trowa had gotten used to messages at odd times and long waits between responses and Duo falling asleep in the middle of conversations.  He actually wasn’t sure when the other man had time to sleep, much less date.

 

He tried not to feel disappointed.  Duo wasn’t blowing him off.  He was just busy.

 

His phone vibrated again.

 

**_I have home call on Saturday night and I’m free Sunday._ **

 

Trowa blew his breath out in frustration.  He was working Sunday.

 

Fuck it.  He had PTO days.  He walked down to the charge nurse office. Surely his podmate could manage for ten minutes without him. He poked his head in to see Dorothy bent over the evening assignment.

 

“What do you want Barton?”

 

“How’s the staffing look on Sunday?”

 

She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.  He plastered a bland look on his face.  She rolled her eyes before flipping through the schedule a few pages.  “We’ve got twenty three nurses scheduled, and as long as the patient numbers stay the same, we’ll probably be good.  Why?”

 

“I think I’m getting sick,” he answered, tacking an immensely fake cough on at the end.  

 

Another eye roll and she was making a notation in the schedule book.  “I’m marking you for first off.  Call Saturday night and see what the numbers look like.  If you call in you have to make up the day.”

 

He shrugged.  Trowa rarely, if ever, called in.  It wouldn’t be that big of a deal.  

 

**_Come over for dinner Saturday? You can take call from my house.  And rest.  We can save the movie for another time.  Or stream one._ **

 

**_Netflix and chill?_ **

 

Trowa laughed out loud, walking down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maggiano's is a chain restaurant, the original restaurant from which all others stemmed is in Chicago. However, Houston has a special location downtown that is a bit different from the other chains as well, with a special menu and all that. This Maggiano's is that one. I love it.
> 
> I live LIVE to make up stupid nicknames for Zechs.
> 
> “Ou étais-tu toute ma vie?” - "Where have you been all my life?" shoutout to ClaraxBarton for helping me with the fiddly translation. 
> 
> We really have stopped calling the Heimlich maneuver the Heimlich maneuver and we really DO call it abdominal thrusts now, but it's not because Dr. Heimlich's family SUED, it's because his family came out and said he was a dirty rotten liar who had never invented it and it didn't deserve to be named after him.
> 
> Also, if you've ever gone out with a group of medical professionals, I promise you that they really do argue over who has to do the life-saving. No one WANTS to do it. Trust me. My S.O. outed me on a plane once while I was reading a book and I've never forgiven him. (The other passenger had low blood sugar, they didn't need my help. No one died. I could have kept reading my book.)


	4. Must Love Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Netflix and chill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE THAR BE SMUT

Trowa scrubbed his sweaty palms against his pants.

 

Duo was going to be arriving literally any minute - he’d texted when he’d left his apartment - food was in the oven, the house was relatively clean and Trowa was…

 

Embarrassing, really.

 

He was worse than a teenager getting ready for prom and he was officially annoyed at his own nervousness.  It had taken him half an hour to decide on jeans and a long sleeved henley, as though he weren’t getting dressed to hang out in his own house.  At least he’d shaved this time.

 

Opening the pantry door, he surveyed the supply of emergency liquor on the top shelf.  When he’d first moved into the house he’d had any number of gatherings or parties, and people had routinely left bottles of every conceivable alcohol at his house, either as a parting gift, or just because they hadn’t remembered to take it, and he had quite the selection.  Most of it was garbage but some…

 

He pulled down the bottle of Disaronno and poured a more-than-generous serving over ice.  Hopefully being mildly intoxicated would settle his nerves enough that he could stop acting like an idiot.

 

By the time Duo knocked on his door twenty minutes later, he was well into his second glass of the amber liqueur and feeling much more pleasant than he had been.  

 

When Trowa opened the door, Duo gazed up at him from behind a mask of exhaustion.  He had his hands tucked into his pockets self-consciously, and he was huddled into the canvas jacket he was wearing over his jeans and sweater.

 

Trowa stepped back, motioning him inside.  “No bag?” He’d expected Duo to have at least a shoulder bag of stuff for work, in case he got called in.

 

The other man shrugged, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, gazing around the room curiously, not meeting Trowa’s eyes.  “I paid one of the other residents two hundred bucks to take call for me tonight.”

 

Unable to help himself, Trowa barked a laugh.  “I called in sick for tomorrow. Well. I put myself for first off, and I’ll be calling in sick if they don’t call me off, anyway.”

 

Duo grinned at him, clearly pleased.  “So gimme the ten cent tour.”

 

Trowa’s house was modest, just a small, two bedroom brick affair, but he’d spent a lot of time personalizing it, and he was rather proud of how it had turned out.  Duo looked over the tiling, the granite counters, and the chair rail appreciatively, and whistling when he poked his head in the bathroom and looked at the glass enclosed rain shower.

 

He stopped outside his bedroom, hand on the knob.  “Brace yourself,” he warned, and Duo smirked.

 

“For your bedroom?  Believe me, I’m ready.”

 

Trowa snorted.  “For Nike.”

 

When he opened the door, forty pounds of over-excited Siberian Husky barreled out, dancing around both of them good naturedly, nearly dragging Duo down to the floor in her excitement.

 

“Nike, sit!” Trowa called, and she did, though she still couldn’t keep still, wiggling her haunches and looking up at Trowa adoringly.  He sighed in fond amusement. She was never going to be the best behaved dog, but she tried really hard.

 

Duo was nearly instantly on the floor next to her, kneeling down on her level, and scratching her chest and behind her ears in unabashed enthusiasm.  Nike managed to maintain her minimum decorum for approximately thirty seconds of his ‘Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl? You are!’ before she leapt on him and then both of them were on the ground, Nike licking his neck and aiming for his face, Duo laughing like a maniac.

 

Trowa grinned down at them, even as his heart twisted up in his chest.

 

He was in way over his head here.

 

Taking a few steps towards the kitchen, he said the magic word.

 

“Treat?”

 

Instantly abandoning her new playmate, Nike barrelled into the kitchen, nails clicking against the wood-look tile, and Trowa tossed her a doggie cookie before he ushered her out the back door to run off some of her adrenaline.  When he turned around, Duo was still sitting in the floor, arms around his knees, grinning widely.

 

The joy on his face left Trowa nearly breathless.

 

He held out a hand to help Duo up, tugging the other man to his feet with a rueful grin.  “I did warn you,” he said, shaking his head.

 

Duo shrugged, not letting go of Trowa’s hand.  “I love dogs. She’s great.”

 

“She’s a menace,” Trowa murmured, stepping closer.  “She’s eaten at least four pairs of my shoes, and she tries to sleep in my bed.”

 

“Well, we can’t have that,” Duo answered, leaning in.

 

The kiss was slow and languid, Trowa burying his hand in Duo’s hair, the other man’s hands resting on his waist.  He took his time, enjoying the press of their lips, the mingling of breath, and then the mutual exploration, tongues sliding against one another as he tugged Duo even closer with one arm.  He nipped at Duo’s lower lip, before drawing it into his mouth to soothe the sting, and the small noise Duo made in response went straight to his groin, like a direct injection of lust.

 

The persistent beeping of the kitchen timer penetrated the fog of arousal, and Trowa drew away slowly, both of them breathless, and took a moment to appreciate the picture of Duo, eyes closed and lips swollen, before his lids fluttered open and Trowa was just about ready to let dinner burn if he could answer the look of profound need on Duo’s face.

 

Then Nike barked at the back door, and he chuckled.  

 

The universe was clearly conspiring against them.

 

Duo licked his lips and took a step back, smiling.  “So, what’s for dinner?”

 

He followed Trowa into the kitchen, watching as he pulled a perfectly roasted chicken out of the oven, along with foil wrapped sweet potatoes and roasted broccoli.

 

“Whoa, Tro, when you say you’re going to cook, you don’t play around.”

 

Glancing over his shoulder, he took in Duo’s impressed expression and snorted.  “I just put food in the oven, Duo, it’s not that difficult.”

 

“You’re talking to a man who lives off of hospital cafeteria food and lean cuisine, I’m easily impressed.”

 

Well, that was fair.

 

Trowa let Nike back in the house, pouring food in her bowl and dropping a chew bone on her bed in the corner, where she’d hopefully be occupied for the rest of the evening.  Duo settled himself on one of the high stools by the breakfast bar, watching as Trowa pulled down plates and utensils, before refilling his glass. He offered Duo a drink by way of lifting the bottle in his general direction.

 

Duo gave him a self-deprecating grin.  “If I drink that I’ll be snoring on your shoulder in half an hour.”

 

Trowa poured Duo a scant half glass and slid it over.  “I’m willing to risk it. It’s a liqueur. I think you’ll be fine.”  He leaned a hip against the counter and watched as Duo took a doubtful sip, a pleasantly surprised expression crossing his face.  When he raised the glass again, and closed his eyes to savor the drink, Trowa made his way around the counter, stopping centimeters away, waiting.  

 

Plucking the glass out of Duo’s hand when he was done, Trowa swooped down for another kiss, chasing the flavor of the sweet liquor, plundering Duo’s mouth with more heat than before.  He backed off briefly, just long enough to look at Duo’s expression, before he dived back in, all tongues and teeth and frantic motion, Duo’s hands fisted in his shirt and Trowa’s resting against his hip, fingers sliding under the hem of the cream-colored sweater.

 

Nike pushed her way between them, whining, and Duo laughed.

 

“I thought we were about to eat dinner?”

 

Privately, Trowa was hungry for something other than chicken, but he released Duo reluctantly, making his way back to the stove.

 

“The chicken needed to rest anyway,” he answered, his voice rough.  He cleared his throat. Took a few deep breaths. He hadn’t invited Duo here to ravish him, and he needed to-

 

“I mean, I’m all for dessert first, but I think if we don’t eat now, we won’t eat at all.”

 

He needed to take a cold shower, immediately, before he spontaneously combusted.

 

Duo was leaning on his hand at the bartop, watching Trowa with heat in his eyes, sipping his drink.

 

He took several more deep breaths, willed himself into a state of semi-arousal instead of embarrassing horniness.  Thought of ice cold showers and naked old ladies. God knew he’d seen enough of them. 

 

Carving the chicken briskly, he prepared two plates and offered one to Duo.  “Do you want to eat in here, or we can sit on the couch or?”

 

Duo reached out and took the plate from him, angling his stool so that there was enough room for Trowa and both their elbows.  Shrugging, Trowa edged onto the empty seat, his plate next to Duo’s.

 

They ate with the speed and in the near-silence of two people who were accustomed to having their meals interrupted by emergencies, and Trowa nearly laughed when both of them were done in less than ten minutes.  Duo looked over at him in confusion followed by embarrassed amusement when Trowa quirked an eyebrow at their empty plates and glanced meaningfully at the clock.

 

The food put away and the dishes in the dishwasher, they took their drinks into the living room, Duo settling on the couch while Trowa dug out his absurdly large blue-ray collection.  He brought the binder to the low table in front of the couch for Duo to peruse.

 

Taking in the size of the binder Duo whistled, low and long.  “Is there a movie you  _ don’t _ own?”

 

Trowa shrugged.  “I like movies. And theatre.  Visual arts.”

 

Duo flipped through the first few sleeves of movies, which were in no particular order, before he leaned back to look at Trowa thoughtfully.  

 

“What movie were you planning to take me to, when you texted?”

 

He hesitated, briefly, before answering.  “Bladerunner, unless you were totally against the idea.”  Trowa knew that kind of sci-fi wasn’t for everyone.

 

The other man grinned at him.  “I’ve never seen the original, to be honest.”

 

That was… practically a crime.  Trowa pulled the binder towards him, flipping quickly to the back pages.  He pulled the disk out with a flourish that made Duo smile wider. He loaded it into the player and tucked the binder away while Duo made himself comfortable on the couch, depositing his empty glass on the side table as Trowa settled himself in nearby.  Close, but not touching.

 

A valiant effort at gentlemanly behavior.

 

Duo was asleep before Dekard was done testing Racheal, determining her replicant status, his head heavy on Trowa’s shoulder, breath coming in soft wheezes that were almost - but not quite - snores.

 

Should have gone with the less-gentlemanly behavior instead of the movie, obviously.

 

Trowa leaned his head against Duo’s, listening to him sleep and only half paying attention to the movie.  

 

When the credits started rolling, he nudged Duo gently, trying to wake him without startling him.  The other man responded drowsily, but it was pretty obvious he wasn’t really awake, and Trowa doubted whether it was even safe to let him drive home.  He coaxed Duo up and off the couch, leading him to the bedroom - and Trowa was partially berating himself that he’d made the second bedroom into an office rather than a guest room. He’d slept on his couch before it hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but he wasn’t going to make Duo do it after he’d kept him here watching a movie when he’d know he was tired.

 

In the bedroom he managed to get Duo stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers without too much fuss, further confirming his suspicions that the other man was far too tired to drive anywhere, and tucked in between his sheets.  

 

The soft, rhythmic not-snores were back before Trowa made it out of the room to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take out his contacts.  After putting Nike in her kennel for the night, he crept back into the bedroom to change and was about to leave when Duo shifted under the blankets.

 

“Tro?”

 

“Yeah?” he answered softly, unsure if Duo was really awake or-

 

“Where’r ya goin’?”  The words were slurred with sleep and confusion.

 

“The couch,” he answered easily, shrugging, though Duo couldn’t see him.

 

There was a lengthy pause, and Trowa wondered if Duo had fallen asleep again.  Then-

 

“Stay?”  Duo sounded more awake now, though no less tired than he had been.  Almost shy. He tugged the blankets on the other side of the bed down in clear invitation.

 

Trowa padded across the room, slipping beneath the sheets without comment, feeling odd because Duo was on his usual side of the bed.  The other man scooted closer, tangling his feet with Trowa’s, close enough that he could feel the body heat radiating from him, and reached out hesitantly, resting his hand on Trowa’s bare chest.  Reaching up, Trowa covered Duo’s hand with his own.

 

The other man sighed, in some strange combination of contentment and disappointment.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, exhaustion already dragging him back under.

 

“For what?” Trowa asked, quietly.  

 

“Was’n exactly what I had planned f’r the night,” came the garbled reply, and Trowa couldn’t help but smile in the darkness as he stared up at the ceiling.

 

“There’s always the morning instead,” he answered, only partially in jest.

 

Duo huffed a small laugh and gave Trowa a half-hearted pat, and then his breathing evened out into sleep again.

 

*

 

Trowa woke instantly, disoriented and confused, his phone ringing from the wrong side and a warm weight sprawled across his back. 

 

It took him a moment of frantic fumbling for the phone and scrambling to remember where he was before he realized the weight against his back was Duo. And that he was in his own bed, albeit in the wrong side. He squinted at the blinding phone display as it rang with the hospital number. 

 

4:36 AM - exactly nine minutes before his alarm. 

 

“Hello?” 

 

“Trowa, we’re calling you off for today.”

 

“Thank fuck,” he muttered. 

 

“What?” The night shift charge asked, as though she hadn’t heard him. 

 

“Thanks Nancy,” he said, more clearly. 

 

She hung up with a blithe ‘get some sleep’ as though being jolted awake in the middle of the night wasn’t going to prevent that. 

 

Duo shifted against him. “Work?” he asked, sounding as groggy as Trowa felt. 

 

He grunted in agreement, flopping back down and tossing the phone onto the nightstand.  Sighing into the darkness, he shifted, slightly, to drag the blankets back up and punch his pillow back into a comfortable position, causing Duo to grumble sleepily and scoot closer.

 

All the languid relaxation he’d been feeling dissipated, replaced by a sudden, visceral awareness of every point of contact between their two bodies.  The knowledge that nothing separated them except a thin t-shirt and two sets of cotton boxers.

 

Trowa swallowed dryly, even as Duo nuzzled at the back of his neck, his arm drifting across Trowa’s waist.  He held perfectly still, his heart pounding, waiting for Duo to either settle or…

 

Lips drifted across his spine.  “Wha’ time issit?”

 

“Early,” Trowa croaked, and hoped the roughness of his voice could be explained by the time, rather than the rock hard erection he was currently sporting.  Just from a graze of lips and a warm body in his bed.

 

Duo slipped even closer, and the hardness pressed against his back erased any doubts Trowa was harboring about the purposeful nature of his movements.

 

“Too early?”  The hand at his waist drifted lower, fingers drifting along the edge of his shorts, teasing at the thin, sensitive skin above his hips.

 

Trowa rolled over, tugging at the covers and arranging his limbs until he was facing Duo in the dark, lips trailing over the other man’s face and throat. “No,” he breathed against Duo’s skin, “not if this is what you had in mind.”  He reached down, palming the erection he found, Duo arching into his touch.

 

“That’s pretty much exactly what I was thinking,” Duo responded, breathlessly.

 

Trowa dragged his hands back up, taking the hem of Duo’s shirt with them, and the other man levered himself up to pull it roughly over his head and toss it away.  When he settled back against the pillows again, Trowa pressed him over, leaning above him, and trailed his mouth along Duo’s jaw and throat, stopping to nip at his earlobe.

 

Duo turned his head to give him better access, but Trowa was already working his way down, nibbling at sharp collarbones and stroking his hands over Duo’s torso, feeling the sharp intake of hastily drawn breaths and the tremble of muscles under his touch.  He paused to gently bite a nipple he could feel but not see, listening to the gasp Duo made, felt hands come up to grasp his shoulders, tugging, not pushing him away, and he moved to repeat the motion on the other nipple with similar effect.

 

He quested lower, dragging damp kisses and tiny nips across taut skin and sensitive ribs, Duo flinching when he tongued at his belly button, making a choked off, gasping chuckle when Trowa grazed his teeth along his hipbone.  Learning Duo’s body was everything he could have hoped, his only regret that he hadn’t had enough forethought to turn on a light, the other man gratifyingly responsive. He made no effort at all to hide how much he liked how Trowa touched him.

 

Tugging Duo’s boxers down and off, Trowa ran his mouth across Duo’s thighs, purposely avoiding the erection he could feel jutting against his jaw, except to blow the occasional hot, moist breath across it as he continued to run his hands along all the parts of Duo’s body he could reach.  It was slow torture, and it wasn’t long before Duo was writhing underneath him, his hips thrusting upward in silent plea.

 

Finally he reached to stroke his hands through Trowa’s hair, barely tugging.

 

“Tro,” he moaned, the plea breathless and low, and Trowa thought he would pay obscene amounts of money to hear Duo groan his name like that forever.

 

He took pity on him, raising up to engulf the other man’s cock, letting it slide slowly between his lips, nearly all the way down, Duo rocking up to meet him with jerky, reflexive movements.  His feet moved restlessly on the bed and Trowa eased off just as slowly, sucking hard.

 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” the other man moaned, and Trowa hummed in agreement, could already feel Duo swelling in his mouth, knew he was close.  He backed off a little, just the head in his mouth, to swirl his tongue around the crown, scrape his teeth lightly, before plunging down again.

 

Bobbing faster, Trowa wrapped his hands around Duo’s hips, pinning him in place while he sucked his cock, listening to the steady stream of garbled words and breathless moaning flowing out of his mouth, his own cock throbbing in response.  Duo’s hands scrabbled at his shoulders as his entire body stiffened-

 

“Oh, god, Tro, fuck, I’m- fuck I’m gonna-” his words were lost in a low-pitched groan that went straight to Trowa’s groin even as Duo's cock erupted, Trowa sucking him down, swallowing swiftly as the other man came. Duo’s hands tightened in his hair briefly, before his entire body seemed to melt into the mattress while he gasped for breath.  Trowa released his softening cock with a last lick, reversing his path from before as he kissed his way back up Duo’s heaving chest.

 

“Shit,” Duo panted, as Trowa leaned over him, “shit, I’m sorry.”

 

Trowa paused.  “Please,” he said, dryly, “never say the ‘s’ word when you’re in my bed.”

 

Duo snorted.  “Which one? ‘Shit’ or ‘sorry’?”

 

He leaned down to kiss Duo, a press of lips that lingered, before he nipped at his bottom lip and raised back up.  “Please never apologize when you’re in my bed,” he amended. 

 

“I just,” and Duo sounded embarrassed, in addition to breathless, “I didn’t- I was kind of quick off the mark, Tro.”

 

Rocking his hips, and his extremely prominent erection into Duo’s pelvis, Trowa snorted.  “Do I seem disappointed? You coming was kind of the idea.”

 

Chuckling, Duo wrapped his leg around Trowa’s waist and pulled, forcing Trowa to grind down into him, and Trowa gasped as he thrust forward, unable to help himself.  Duo did it again, and again, until Trowa was rocking against him, shallow and rhythmic.

 

“I want you to fuck me,” Duo murmured against his ear, and Trowa couldn’t stop the sound that escaped him, his head pressed against Duo’s shoulder.

 

“You sure?” he ground out, desperately hoping Duo didn’t actually change his mind.

 

“Yeah, I mean I’ve only been thinking about it for weeks.”  He arched his body up into Trowa’s again, and Trowa almost bit through his tongue with the effort not to come just from thinking about that little revelation.

 

He levered himself off of Duo to fumble in the nightstand drawer, grasping at the small bottle and foil wrapped packages he kept there, finally managing to get a hold on them and drop them on the mattress next to them.  Duo was shoving at the waistband of his boxers impatiently, and Trowa shifted to help him wrestle them off, finally dragging them past his ankles himself. Leaning back on his knees, he reached down to squeeze himself, tapping down the impending orgasm, groaning a little at the contact, and heard Duo’s breath hitch in the silence.

 

“Next time, we turn on a light.”  He sounded hot and breathless again, and Trowa wondered what he was thinking, imagining, with Trowa looming over him in the dark.

 

“Yes, next time, definitely,” Trowa agreed, sounding eager to his own ears.

 

Duo’s laugh was swallowed up in the encouraging groan he made when Trowa stroked lube-slicked fingers over his entrance, easing the tip of his middle finger inside the tight muscle there, working it in and out. When it slid easily, and Duo was arching up into his touch, he added a second, reaching for Duo’s still-soft cock.

 

“Don’t worry,” the other man panted, “I’ll catch up.”

 

Trowa huffed a laugh, releasing him at Duo’s insistence, adding a third finger instead, thrusting it in and out slowly, searching inside the other man until Duo let out a garbled, high-pitched sound.  He changed his angle, until his fingers were stroking over the spot regularly and Duo was a writhing, pleading mess beneath him.

 

Rolling a condom on, Trowa withdrew his fingers to lean over Duo, positioning himself, and finding that the other man had, indeed, caught up.  

 

He trailed his still-slick fingers over Duo’s erection, and the other man chuckled.  “Perks of being young,” he joked.

 

“Stamina is the benefit of experience,” Trowa responded, slowly pressing his way past the slight resistance of Duo’s body, sliding deeper, until he was far as he could go, and he paused, waiting, letting Duo adjust.

 

“Of being old, you mean,” Duo said, but his voice was thin and breathless, and the words lacked bite.

 

Trowa shifted on his knees, pulling back slightly, before rocking forward sharply, enjoying the short, hot sound Duo made in response.  He lengthened his strokes, until he was fucking Duo with long, measured thrusts, angling his hips until Duo was groaning with every upward motion.

 

“You were saying?” Trowa grunted, shaking his bangs out of his face.

 

“I- fuck- I dunno, just- fuck! Don’t stop.”

 

Trowa reached for Duo’s erection, trying to match the rhythm, his own control slipping.  He only got in another half-dozen thrusts before the other man came with a strangled shout, his body rigid, clamping down on Trowa’s cock as his dick swelled in Trowa’s hand and then Trowa was coming too, hunched over Duo’s body and thrusting erratically, lost in a rush of pleasure and his own pounding heartbeat.

 

He was holding himself up on trembling arms when he came back to the present, Duo gasping for air beneath him, and Trowa eased out as slowly as he could manage before flopping onto the mattress next to the other man, totally spent.  He tugged off the sticky condom and rolled to drop it in the trashcan next to the bed, before turning back and pulling Duo close.

 

They were asleep almost instantly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nike is a real dog, and she's an adorable pain in the ass.
> 
> So clearly I wrote this when the new Bladerunner was in theaters, and do in fact highly recommend it and it gives me very strong Quatre feels.
> 
> There's nothing like your phone waking you up at oh-dark-thirty to give you a big enough adrenaline rush to ensure you won't go back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of this work has been beta read by ChronicWhimsy, who, I'm afraid, didn't know what she was signing up for when she agreed to beta for me and gets stuck reading any number of unfinished or semi-abandoned projects and never complains. The first chapter was definitely beta'd by her.
> 
> Some of the rest of it has been read by ClaraxBarton, who has been this project's eternal cheerleader. 
> 
> Frankly, I don't think this is my best work, by a long shot, but it's very close to my heart and has a large chunk of 'me' in it - I enjoy writing it, mostly for myself, and I hope you enjoy reading it.


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